growing up was real hard for me
by LoveLikeYou'reNotBroken
Summary: growing up was real hard for me. watching daddy beat mommy till she bleeds. i was young but i still stayed by her side. now i cry and i pray to god but i wonder why. my first songfic.


_growing up was real hard for me_

You frown and attempt to make the noise disappear. It's late and they're fighting again. You don't know why, but then again, you hardly ever do.

You are sitting on your bed, your colorful crayons spread out all around you, your coloring book open in your lap. With your elbows propped on your knees, your tongue poking out through your rosy lips, and your legs folded underneath the mesmerizing pages, you began your masterpiece.

You get halfway down with the princess's beautiful golden curls when you hear their voices began to rise. You knew they were downstairs talking, and you should have known better than to think it wouldn't escalate.

You can't hear distinct words, but you hear their voices getting louder and louder. Suddenly it's all one nonstop noise as they scream over each other.

You shake your head as if to clear and focus harder on your coloring. You tell yourself that if you really believe the screaming isn't there, you won't be able to hear it, but even you know magic is only in the fairytales.

That doesn't mean you can't pretend.

You lift the hand that doesn't have a sky blue crayon in it and cover your left ear. The noise is blurred, but still there, and you feel silly because you know nothing will ever make it go away.

You know your friends are probably getting ready for bedtime right now. Their mommy's and daddy's tucking them in and saying goodnight, but the growls in your tummy remind you that you haven't even eaten yet.

And the noise downstairs reminds you that you won't be able to eat until tomorrow morning.

Their screaming at the top of their lungs now, and the shakiness in mommy's voice tells you she's probably crying. The mean words of hatred and blame mix together, the previous problem long forgotten; now it's just a battle of who can last through the insults and bad words.

You throw your crayon down and give up on your picture. It looks to perfect. All the princess's you've seen are pretty, but no one in real life looks this perfect.

You grab your pinkish-red magenta crayon and blend it into her already yellow hair. It comes out looking deep red, almost like a red velvet cupcake, and you realize you like it better than any color.

You hear glass shattering and your head snaps to your closed bedroom door. You know you should probably crawl into your pink bed and go night night but you can't help yourself. You gather your crayons together and stick them back into the box, close your coloring book and place both into a drawer in your dresser.

You slowly open your door and tip toe down to your brother's room. You open the door and close it quickly but quietly. You walk over to his crib and have to stand on your highest of tip toes to see him, but he's squirming and crying, his wails silent over the yelling downstairs.

You grab him into your arms carefully, making sure your tiny five year old arms don't drop him, and sit in the big rocking chair. You slowly roc back and forth until he calms down, muttering a soothing lullaby under your breath just like mommy does.

Once he falls back to sleep, you gently place him back into the crib and silently make your way out of the room.

You walk gradually towards the top of the stairs, sinking onto the top step, pushing a brown curl out of your eyes, and what you see brings tears to your eyes and a hand to your gaping mouth.

_watching daddy beat mommy till she bleeds_

Mommy and daddy are downstairs, parallel to the front door. Daddy is pointing furiously at mommy, as she screams and wipes the tears that are streaming down her pale cheeks.

He abruptly grabs her, his hands around her neck and you hear her begin to choke. He lets go; only to put his one hand on her shoulder and the other one smack her across the face.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You hear her scream out and attempt to push him off, but he was having none of that. He pulls back and punches her right in the eye.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She clutches her face and begs, pleads for him to stop, but as usual he doesn't. He throws her into the wall, and she lays limp on the ground. He kicks her hard in the stomach.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She's bleeding, there's cherry red blood pouring out of her nose and you see it begin to pool on her shirt from her ribs.

You shudder as he leans down and punches her repeatedly wherever he can reach, her mouth, her nose, her eye, her arms, her stomach. She practically soaked in blood and the scent travels up the stairs and burns your nose.

He screams his anger finally coming to an end before storming out the door, slamming it so hard the picture next to the door falls and the frame shatters across the floor.

The house is dead silent for a second before you're running down the stairs and kneeling beside her. You grab her and try to ignore the fact that it's bloody and cold.

"Mommy?" you whisper, your voice hoarse as you choke on the tears stuck in your throat.

"I'm fine, baby." She struggles to force out, but she does. "I'm gonna be just fine." Her eyes never open, and the tears don't stop flowing, but she's alive and you sigh in relief and squeeze her hand before running to get cloths, bandages, and ice.

_i was young, but i still stay by her side_

You rush back to her and pull her head into your lap. You gently dab at the blood on her face, apologizing profusely every time she winces. She continuously says to stop, and that she'll take care of it, but she makes no attempt to move and you just keeping cleaning her up.

Eventually once her face is clean, and you're convinced she's either unconscious or asleep; you relax against the wall and just stroke her hair.

You know daddy won't be back until the morning, when he'll come stumbling in, slurring and drunk, until he'll finally sober up and kiss mommy and tell him how sorry he is and promise it'll never happen again.

And he'll keep that promise, until the next time he gets mad at least.

You used to think daddy loved mommy, but now you just aren't so sure.

It wasn't the first time this has happened, and it wasn't the first time you saw it either. But just like every other time, it was the most painful thing in the world to watch.

The first few times you saw it, you ran to mommy's side. Screamed at daddy, yelled and sobbed, trying to get him away from your mommy, but he just threw you down and it you too.

Mommy eventually sat you down and told you that she loves you, but having me hurt with her won't solve anything. And she's right and you tell yourself that you can't help mommy if you're bleeding too.

You look down to the healing black and blue marks you have on your arms as your personal reminder of daddy's rage.

So now you're submitted to the torture of watching. Every time you run down and help once daddy leaves. You put clean up the blood, help her get back on her feet, or just hold her hand while she cries.

And you always end up crying too.

Why does daddy do that? You thought daddy loved mommy. He does during the day, and when we go out, but for some reason, sometimes when he comes home from work he's so mad. And when he's mad, him and mommy get into a fight. And when they fight, well you end up holding mommy's bloody hand.

And watching mommy suffer makes you suffer.

And you know you're friends don't have to go through this.

They don't have to tell lies to hide secrets, or wear makeup to hide bruises.

So why does it happen you?

Why does it happen to mommy?

_now i cry and i pray to god but i wonder why_

It's been years since the last time daddy hit mommy. You still stay by her side through the many times he did hit her, but you eventually got big enough that you called the police when she was unconscious with a barely there pulse.

You dyed your hair the same color you created on your coloring book so many years ago, and you still have that page ripped out and saved in your drawer.

Hollywood Arts has treated you well. The many years of hiding and lying made you a phenomenal actress, and the many lullabies you sang to your baby brother paid off big time for your vocal cords.

You have friends who care and you're so grateful, but you can't help but wonder what will happen in the future.

Once daddy went away in the police car, they sent him in for treatment. He came back better, healthier, happier, and never hit mommy again, but there's still doubt in your mind.

What if he comes home mad from work again? Your mother still has some permanent scars she still has to hide, and the emotional trauma it put you through will affect you throughout your whole life.

What five year old girl should have to go through that?

The memories are still fresh in your head as if they happened yesterday, and you're positive they won't ever go away. Every single fight, every single beating, you can remember crystal clear.

It's something you'll have to carry with you the rest of your life.

You thank god every night he hasn't hit her again, and you won't ever stop praying that it won't start again.

But every time you see one of mommy's scars you can't help but feel strong hatred towards daddy.

What gave that bastard the right to hurt her?

The image of her screams, her tears, and her blood on your hands fills your head and you swear you can hear the glass shattering, you can smell the blood spilling.

These things will never be erased.

Because in the end, she's not the only one who suffered.

**A/N: Okay I know I haven't updated anything in a while, and I'm sorry. Writer's block sucks. **

**Anyway this is part of Growing Up by Auburn. It's an amazingly beautiful song, I seriously suggest you listen to it; it'll also help you understand the story better. **

**Please review!**

**-LoveLikeYou'reNotBroken**


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